


The Right Amount of Sharp

by Twelve (Dodici)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life, but it's mostly just fluff, mention of canon-level gore, whale island, which isn't exactly reassuring i guess, you could read it as friendship but Togashi would be disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dodici/pseuds/Twelve
Summary: Maybe Killua isn’t as out of place on Whale Island as he thought at first.
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Mito Freecs & Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 10
Kudos: 147





	The Right Amount of Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> I had to look up stuff about praying mantises and now I’m scarred for life XD  
> At least the English language was once again saved by chubsthehamster's amazing beta skills <3

It’s not the first time Gon leaves him alone somewhere in the house. He has chores to do and Killua can help, but only if he’s ready to accept Aunt Mito’s gratitude and soft pats on the cheek.

Left in the kitchen with saran wrap and a giant fish, he feels like the protagonist of one of those tricky escape room games where you have to combine objects in weird ways to solve riddles. Saran wrap and a giant fish and “Killua dear, can you wrap it up real quick”— _right_.

He picks at the edges of the wrap and snorts because it’s stubborn and sticky and—he isn’t used to it, to this. Doing stuff like this, set the table, wipe the floor, wash the dishes. He’s pretty sure not even Gotoh does this kind of stuff.

Last time Killua used saran wrap it was to wrap the head of a target, because the client wanted it to be delivered to them pretty intact—Killua doesn’t know why, the reason wasn’t on the contract, and anything that wasn’t on the contract wasn’t his business. He and Illumi took the subway and carried the head inside a cooler; it was maybe the first time ever Killua took the subway and he remembers thinking that the train was pretty cool, all those people going wherever, doing their business just like Illumi and him. He felt really normal.

Whale Island is normal, all natural light and nature sounds, baked goods instead of prepackaged snacks, so good that even the tragic lack of Chocorobots isn’t that bad of a fault. Killua could almost—almost—think about getting used to it.

He won’t ever get used to fish.

The dead eye of the one lying limp on the plate is still as bright black as it was this morning. Killua couldn’t do much apart from being pretty disgusted at how slimy it was. It still is. Ew.

“Oh, come on,” he says to the wrap. His claws come out and it’s easier to lift the hem with a sharp nail; he picks the layer and unrolls a strip big enough to cover the whole giant dead fish. Then he cuts the wrap with a sharp claw, satisfied as the fish’s eye looks straight at him from behind the film.

“Oh my—that’s quite impressive.”

Killua blinks and for a second he doesn’t get it. In the span of the two weeks he’s spent here eating the food cooked inside this little house on the cliff, he has learned that Mito likes to compliment him for the silliest reasons, from the way he cleans after himself to his clothing choices. But she isn’t complementing Killua’s clumsy use of the saran wrap; she’s looking at his hand and Killua suddenly feels like someone on that subway train, back then, discovered the bloody head inside the cooler.

He hides his hands, the rim of something cold and sharp growing inside his throat.

“Yeah, sorry—is it okay, wrapped up like this?”

Mito’s eyes shift back on the fish and then she nods, but her brow is still furrowed.

“Of course, thanks for… Killua, do you have claws?”

“No,” Killua says, and he knows his face, his whole body is trying to do something—to run, maybe?—only Aunt Mito’s face falls down, eyebrows scrunching. “Yes. No. I mean—”

She tilts her head, to peek at Killua’s hands hidden behind his back.

“It wasn’t an accusation, dear. It’s just a bit curious.”

Killua gapes at her raised hand, too dumbstruck to even think about avoiding the impact—she places it on top of his head. It’s a quick pet, a bit of a scratch; something she does to Gon all the time while he whisks around, constantly running. It lasts so little and she’s already back at work, searching for something inside the fridge.

Killua stands there like a dumbass, arms falling limp at his sides.

“It’s—” He starts, and discovers that he needs to swallow. “It’s just a weird genetic thing that runs in my family.”

Mito nods, unfazed—there it is, so it isn’t just Gon: Freecs are just _like that_.

“I bet Gon was ecstatic when he saw them, you’re just like a kitten. And it would make gutting fish ten times faster,” she adds, pensive as she places carrots and cucumbers on the counter. “Would you mind helping me chop some vegetables, Killua? Since Gon is taking his sweet time with that parsley?” She raises her voice hard enough to make herself being heard from out of the window.

“I’m coming! There’s a super cool mantis, it’s green—”

“I don’t care if it’s blue, Gon, I asked you to do something!” She picks up an apron and sighs hard, looking at Killua as if they’re doomed to share the same destiny. “Honestly, that boy.”

“I can help you chop vegetables,” Killua says then, because of course in Gon’s household everybody’s brains work a million times faster than his and he’s left standing there in the middle, with his stupid claws and his stupid, empty skull. “With a knife. I’ve never chopped vegetables with claws,” he explains. It sounds relevant.

“You saw Killua’s claws, Aunt Mito?” Gon pops out right then, a bundle of bouncing parsley and a giant sunflower with a big, scary looking insect chilling on top. “They’re super cool, right? He’s just like a kitten!”

And here it is again, Mito’s eyes searching his and she’s saying “just as expected”, like it’s an inside joke—like Killua’s killer hands are an inside joke; like Killua truly is a kitten in that house, tamed and worthy of scratches, of being handled with care.

“Gon, how many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing insects inside the house—”

“But Aunt Mito, it’s a mantis!” and he’s placing the sunflower and its passenger inside the closest vase, wearing the same ecstatic expression as when he caught that big fish this morning.

Mito scoffs.

“Which is an insect, as you would know if you applied yourself in biology instead of just running around!”

“I know it’s an insect, but it’s a cute insect. Killua, don’t you think it’s cute?”

Killua is gaping. He tries to consider the triangular head and the long, sharp limbs that look just like scythes.

“I guess? It looks kinda dangerous.”

“Oh, but she’s not!” Gon blurts, happy. “I mean. Not if you’re not her food. Or her partner—and, anyway, she looks so cool, right? See, the fore legs are called ‘raptorial’, because—”

“Take the mantis out, Gon, don’t let me start counting. One—”

Gon’s eyes get huge when the first finger springs up.

“Sorry, Aunt Mito, please don’t get mad! I just wanted to show her to Killua—let’s go free her, alright!”

He lets the mantis climb on his palm, while the other hand is already closed on Killua’s own, careful and unafraid of raptorial legs and claws alike.

And as they run, kitchen flashing out of sight and door banging in their wake, Killua thinks that he gets it; Gon is the wildest, most dangerous creature he’s ever laid eyes upon. It’s the same thrill as a fight, and ten thousand times more dangerous, and ten thousand times more worth it.


End file.
